Grace's garden

There's always something blooming in Grace's garden--roses, iris, lilies, butterfly bushes, and other things that I have no clue what they are. Every time we show up to mow, there's something new.
But Grace has been gone for about five years. I never even met her. Her husband, Max, hired us to do his lawn the weekend of her funeral, and we've been doing it ever since. 
The garden was always her thing--Max says he never works in it. We mow around it and trim it as best we can, but the profusion of flowers has convinced me that perennials are the way to go. In spring I plant several flats of annuals, and enjoy the color throughout the summer, but then have to do it all again the next year.
I've also noticed other perennials popping up from Grace's life. My husband, Dave, and I have kidded Max recently about setting him up with Dave's widowed grandma, since they are both 93. He chuckles, but says that the wife he had was the only woman he ever wanted, like someone who had experienced the great love of his life and was content. Her picture, a classic black-and-white portrait in an oval frame, sits by a potted African violet on a small marble end table.
Their daughter, who lives several hours away, emails Max daily. Their son picks up Max regularly to walk in the park or the mall. Surely their mother taught them well.
The other week, though Max told us something that raised my respect for Grace even more. He said his brother, who was incapable of supporting himself after contracting scarlet fever in his childhood, lived with them for more than 20 years. Max and Grace set up an apartment for him in their basement. Every meal she fixed at plate for him and took it downstairs to him, as he wished. Grace must have been amazing.
I want to plant perennials.